Phone Calls
by WasJustAReader
Summary: In the time between Toby's confession, and when CJ show's up at Toby's apartment in "Institutional Memory," she calls him repeatedly - late at night when the world is too much - and they don't talk.


**So I know CJ would know better than to call Toby during this time, but you know what? canon can suck it for now. This idea wouldn't leave me alone. Originally written in February 2015, polished some before posting now. Also posted on AO3.  
Part of a... collection? of season seven/post-show fics focusing loosely on CJ - her and Danny's family, her relationship with Toby (I'm a sucker for CJ and Toby friend fics), etc. "All This, and a Cat," technically falls into this fic cluster, too. More will be be coming... hopefully.  
**

The first time she called it was 2:30 in the morning and she'd only been home for about an hour. The phone seemed to ring forever. It almost gave her enough time to chicken out and hang up. Almost. On what felt like the 100th ring he picked up.

"You shouldn't be calling."

Well, hello to you, too. Bastard.

She wants to tell him that she knows. That she doesn't even _want_ to talk to him right now. She just wants to know that someone's there. Wants someone to know that she's angry. She's angry and lonely and tired. She wants to yell and scream about how unfair it all is, about how much she wants to smack him over the head with a frying pan.

But she doesn't. The words don't come. She clears her throat and self-consciously swipes at the quiet tears suddenly making tracks down her cheeks. She wiggles further under the covers of her bed and tightens her grip on the phone.

On the other side of town he sighs. She can imagine him running a hand through what little hair he has left.

"Okay," he says quietly. "Okay."

And then they're quiet.

* * *

The second time was before she and Danny "didn't talk." She'd been on and off the phone with Donna all day, but it wasn't enough. It was all too much. That night she went home, poured herself a large glass of red wine she wouldn't drink and slid to the floor with her back against the refrigerator.

Her phone seemed to weigh a thousand pounds in her pocket so she took it out. And dialed a number she knew by heart.

"Get off the floor" he ordered, voice sharp with… something. Unshed tears? Bitterness?

How he knew was beyond her right now, but the command was like a punch in the gut. Her breath hitched.

He sighed.

"I didn't mean… just… don't be… you shouldn't be alone. You're not. Don't be." His voice was softer this time, even hinting at vulnerability.

CJ inhaled slowly and exhaled in a shaky puff. She still wouldn't speak to him. Instead the tears came.

"CJ," he whispered, "Go. Find… someone."

They both knew who he meant.

Someone else would listen to her fall asleep that night.

* * *

The third time he picks up on the third ring.

It's a Saturday night, not quite midnight. He can tell that she's put him on speaker. Pots and pans clatter and there's a garbled murmur of a radio or tv somewhere in the background. She turns the sink on and off. She's cooking. Something falls.

"Shit!"

It's less an exclamation of anger than a cry for help. It's the first thing she's said in these phone calls. Her voice cracks and he hears the scrape of a chair on the kitchen floor. She's sobbing.

On the other side of town he imagines her sitting alone in her kitchen, head on the table, shoulders shaking. In his mind the circles under her eyes are darker than ever and her cheeks hurt from pasting on a smile all day long.

"Go to bed, Claudia Jean," he murmurs through the phone.

The use of her given name startles her into action. She stands, turns off the stove and the radio, picks up the phone and moves to her bedroom, still crying. He hears the rustle of her sheets as she settles in for the night. Again, the phone is cradled tightly against her ear. Her breath hitches, but still she doesn't speak.

* * *

They're older this time, and she speaks. It's only ten o'clock in California, but tomorrow has come to Washington. He picks up on the fourth ring, sitting up slowly and blinking in the dark. He doesn't check caller ID.

"Hello?"

"I just finished your book." She's pacing in her kitchen, watching through the window as Danny clears the remains of a late dinner off the patio table.

"Oh?" He leans back against his headboard.

"Yeah." She pauses. The silence stretches across the country, but somehow it's not uncomfortable.

"And?" he asks.

"I wish we had kept talking. All of us. Things would have been so much easier."

Toby sighs.

* * *

"CJ."

"Hm?" she asked, starting slightly and turning to meet Toby's eyes.

The pair sat on the front steps of the Bartlet farmhouse, watching as Zoe chased CJ and Danny's daughter around the yard.

"You still with us?"

CJ sighed. "Yeah, I'm here…" She trailed off. "Remember those times" – she took a deep breath – "those time times I would call. Back when… after you… and Leo…" Flustered, she quickly looked away from Toby's inquiring eyes. "Never mind. That was a long time ago."

Toby was silent for a minute before replying. "I remember."

"How long did you stay on the line?" she whispered, still not meeting his eyes.

"Until you fell asleep."

Surprised, CJ whipped her head around. "What?"

Toby nodded. "Every time."

Before CJ could reply, her daughter came running over, screaming with glee. "Mama! Mama! I caught Zoe! We were playing tag and I caught her!"

Quickly swiping a her sleeve across glassy eyes, CJ schooled her mouth into a wide smile. "That's great, baby girl! I think it's almost time for dinner, why don't you go inside and get washed up?"

Her cheeks once again hurt from forcing a smile, but this time the circles under her eyes were caused not by her nightmares, but her daughter's. This time they were all talking.

"Thank you," she whispers, leaning in and kissing Toby softly on the cheek. "Thank you."


End file.
